Day One

Location: Hogwarts Yule Ball (4th and 6th years)

Hermione shone in that periwinkle robe, her hair gleaming like copper in the dim light – as she twirled, her dress billowed around her ankles, and she almost seemed to be weightless as she spun across the dance floor. Unfortunately the guy spinning her so beautifully was obviously not to the same standard. His tux was dull, so unlike she was that night, his hair so flat, he was so awkward on the floor. They were diamonds and brass, life and death, that night. What was truly unmissable though, and that spiked his heart and rid him of his usual joyful banter in ways he could not understand, was the look in his eyes – clear fascination with the laughing girl daintily pulling him into dance after dance. He could not honestly say that Vicky was not good enough, because he had money, charm, and a clear adoration for Hermione, and, most importantly, he made her smile.

Annoyance flitted across his face as his date broke his reverie, pulling him on to the floor to dance with her; he paid little attention smiling weakly when he stood on her feet, his jests feeble, and soon his date, rolling her eyes at his distracted antics, huffily pulled him back down to their table. He continued to watch Hermione in peace until her face was pink and her legs ached and she wandered over to the drinks table. As she drew near he saw his chance, cheekily winking at her, making her flush as he complimented her outrageously. Laughing, his date beckoned Hermione over, and warily she complied, sliding into a seat across from him. Soon the five at the table were happily immersed in conversation, Hermione flawlessly integrating herself with their group. God, she really was amazing. He would himself withdrawing, only absentmindedly responding as he watched the girl in front of him, how her hair was so perfect, her eyes so bright, her smile so true. Her laughter was birdsong to him. Eventually she excused herself to once again find her date, and he watched her go in awe. Flushing horribly, he gruffly brushed off his brother mocking him over his odd behaviour, and pointedly ignored the calculating looks his date gave him. Once again turning back to his quarry, he resumed his watching of the dancing girl, so flawless in every way that night.

As the ball drew to a close, Hermione had vanished and his efforts to catch sight of her proved fruitless. Mournfully, he excused himself to go to bed whilst the others decided to continue their night at the Three Broomsticks, dragging his feet up the stairs towards the common room. As he approached he thought he heard raised voices, and as he drew to a halt in front of the portrait hole, he realised that there were indeed raised voices coming from within, and that they were quite obviously Hermione and Ron – after all, who else managed to reach that pitch and ferocity? Wryly he smiled, realising he ought to wait out here until the storm subsided lest he be caught up in it, he slumped down against the wall, listening to the words thrown between the two; the words of his brother were so cruel, and hers so pained and hurt. Anger rose like a lion in his chest, and he wanted to charge in there and tell his brother to stop being such a bloody git and to go and think about what he was saying before he opened his stupid trap.

Before long the voices slipped to vicious whispers before stopping entirely, and warily he slipped inside, trying to act casual in case either party lingered. What he saw made something foreign in his chest ache so horribly, he actually considered going to visit Madame Pomfrey. Grimly, he walked over to the girl plopping down beside her, asking what his idiot of a brother had done this time. She gave him a watery smile, and his heart danced in his chest. Hermione proceeded to tell him the entire story, spouting fresh streams of tears periodically, her voice never wavering. He admired her strength and ability to see what was right and follow it no matter what. He watched fascinated as she calmed herself quickly, abruptly turning to him she spoke directly to him for the first time that night.

"Don't worry, I'll vacate your shoulder soon, I know it was terribly silly of me to get so upset of Ronald. I should really know better by now, but, oh, he's just such a prat sometimes. Maybe he's right though."

Another watery smile and he shook his head numbly at how little she could think of herself, to think Ron could ever have a point. The anger once more licked at his insides and he felt a dark look slide on his face. Hermione shot him a worried look.

"Honestly Herms", she smiled weakly here, "my brother is a prize idiot, and a tosser of the first water. You are so much better than his pettiness. Plus, now you have the best looking brother charmed into your arms", he winked slyly.

His little speech seemed to break her bad mood, and she smiled her first real smile since he had last seen her. It was dazzling, and he was momentarily blinded. God knows where all those strange feelings were coming from – probably just the fact for that night she had been actually rather pretty, and nothing like her usual swotty self. The pair continued to laugh and joke with each other, and soon he found himself enjoying her company as well as wanting to stare at her with a mixture of shock and awe. Eventually, Hermione stretched languidly, yawning once, before pulling herself to her feet, and with a quick goodnight and a kiss on the cheek, slipped up the stairs to the girls dormitories, whilst he was left staring at his shoes, wondering where on earth she had his this side to her, shaking his head he tried to reason that it was just one night, and it had just been a mixture of testing the new products for the shop, the dim lighting, and the startling transformation of the girl. Then why, did the traitorous voice in the back of his head remind him, that even as her hair had fallen from the careful up do, her dress rumpled and make up smeared around her eyes, did he want to kiss her, and why had he almost missed her bushy hair, and swotty nature – felt she was not as beautiful as she was on Monday mornings, hair running amuck and books stacked around her? He growled fiercely, wondering who could have spiked the punch, because he, Fred Weasley, could never like some as uptight as Granger. No, he comforted himself, it was simply a fluke, and by tomorrow all would be right with the world again. Dismissing all thoughts of her, Fred laboured happily over new product ideas until deep into the night.

In the girls dorms, the girl that had occupied Fred's thoughts so frequently that night, was berating herself for her girlish behaviour – honestly, kissing Ron's brother on the cheek would never make anything better, let alone help him see that she had started to like him. Sinking into a fretful sleep after much internal argument, her last waking thought was that if she felt so sure it was Ron she wanted, why was Fred lodged so persistently in her head and why was she still blushing at the thought of her lips on his cheek?